


how to negotiate

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: “Since, you know, we’re, uh, partners again,” Duncan continues undeterred, smiling softly as he cuts into his French toast.“That’s really got you feelin’ fuzzy, huh?” Brent asks with a chuckle, and Duncan looks up at him, serious as can be.“I missed you.”





	

“Duncs,” Brent grumbles from the doorway of their room, watching carefully for any sign of life beneath the mound of covers. 

It's the third time he's gotten after him, and even though it's an off day, his patience is running thin. He made breakfast, goddamnit, the least Duncan can do is haul his ass out of bed in time to eat before it gets cold. 

“I'm not kiddin’ now, get up.” 

“Or what?” Brent hears, groggy and muffled, but still challenging as ever. Brent’s got no idea how he doesn't suffocate under there, or how he manages to keep from suffocating Duncan himself sometimes. 

He still hasn’t moved. Askin’ for it. 

“You don't want to find out.” 

Duncan huffs an emphatic laugh- _ HA! _ -and it practically shakes the whole bed. 

“You think you're so tough in the morning.” 

“Don’t make me come over there,” Brent threatens, fighting a smile, already inching forward. 

“I wish you would,” Duncan says, peeking out from under the blanket. He looks ten years younger, like rookies again. “I’ll show ya a thing or two.” 

“Yeah, suuure, doll,” Brent says to appease him, chuckling to himself as he walks over to pick up the gauntlet Duncan threw down. He rolls to his back and stretches, breaking out of his blanket burrito, and smiles smugly at him. He’s naked, of course, because he never sleeps any other way. Brent somehow never gets tired of looking. 

Duncan takes a deep, exaggerated breath and lets it out, undoubtedly catching a whiff of cinnamon and maple syrup. “You cooked me breakfast?” 

“I cooked  _ me _ breakfast,” Brent corrects, sitting down next to Duncan’s hip, nonchalantly draping an arm over him, “But I’ll share, I guess.” 

“Funny you made my favorite thing for you,” Duncan remarks with a pointed stare and a knowing grin.

“Everybody likes French toast, bud.” 

“With bacon and eggs?” 

“With bacon and eggs,” Brent repeats, gripping his side just to feel him, giving a squeeze in appreciation of the time off, the time alone. It's quiet, calm, and everything about him’s as easy as breathing. Even his breakfast order. “Extra crispy, extra runny.” 

“S’my Seabsie boy,” Duncan says warmly. “Tell ya what, I’ll come eat, no more fuss, if you jerk me off later.” 

“Your negotiating skills could use a major tune up,” Brent informs him, raising an eyebrow. “How ‘bout you come eat, I won't feed your fucking food to Mogali, and you jerk me off for not letting you starve, eh?” 

Duncan grabs his bicep and uses it to lure him down nearly chest to chest, and Brent goes easily enough, bending to brace himself on his forearm. Duncan lets his hand slide to Brent’s shoulder, then on to clutch at the back of his neck. 

“I’m willing to consider,” he concedes, voice low and mumbly with amused interest. 

“Good,” Brent says, and even though Duncan has morning breath, he kisses him; not to start anything, just to say hello. Duncan scratches his scalp, just how he likes, and kisses back, slow and steady.

He presses into it, twisting Duncan’s curls in his fingers and breathing him in, beard tickling his face. When he's got Duncan right where he wants him, a step beyond casual and edging toward into it, he eases back to whisper against his lips, “Because you're gettin’ up either way,” and yanks the covers off him in one swift motion, tossing them all to the floor and exposing him--every single bit--to the chilly air. 

Duncan shrieks dramatically, and in his ridiculously awful, fake Scottish accent, bellows at his back, “You bastard!” 

Brent laughs, shakes his head, and continues his retreat to the kitchen. 

“I said get up, didn't I?” 

+

Brent’s surprised by how quickly Duncan actually makes it down. Any other day, he’d drag his feet a little longer just to make a point. 

Must be the French toast. 

“Feed meee,” he growls, stopping by the coffee pot on his way to the dining room. Brent eyes him from across the way as he fills his mug, and without saying anything more, Duncan brings it over to top him off, Mogali following closely behind. 

It’s nice not having to talk. 

“Why are we at the real table,” Duncan starts curiously, taking the seat next to him with his plate, “instead of the bar, huh?” 

“Can’t we eat like civilized adults sometimes?”

“No cagin’ this beast, Seabsie,” Duncan says, and Brent rolls his eyes. 

“You can eat in the floor with the dog then.” 

“Don't say ‘the dog’ like that,” Duncan scolds. “She's the most respectable person in this house. Huh, girl? Aren't cha, Mogali? That's right, we’ll give you his seat if he keeps up.” 

Mogali enthusiastically agrees, if her tail wagging’s any indication. 

“Speak for yourself,” Brent says, just to grind his gears. He loves the dog. Duncan knows. She knows. Duncan still bites every time. It’s fun. “And I don’t think either one of you are big enough to get me out of this chair.” 

“Don’t test me,” Duncan grins, shoving a whole piece of bacon in his mouth. Disgusting. “End up putting you out of commission for a few, then where would we be?” 

“You’d be screwed, I know that, since I do everything around here.” 

Duncan scoffs, “Like me on ice, eh?” 

Brent kicks him under the table. 

“Since, you know, we’re, uh, partners again,” Duncan continues undeterred, smiling softly as he cuts into his French toast. 

“That’s really got you feelin’ fuzzy, huh?” Brent asks with a chuckle, and Duncan looks up at him, serious as can be. 

“I missed you.” 

Brent can feel his cheeks flush, but he holds gaze. There’s no time or reason to be embarrassed anymore, and he’ll never deny that being partnered with Duncan, in any place or capacity, feels better than the alternative. “I missed you.” 

“I know,” Duncan says, sure of it, and then his smile turns sleazy, “Sooo, since we’re on the same page, how ‘bout that handjob later?” 

Brent kicks him again, not quite as hard. 

“I’m still thinkin’ about it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @[toewsme1988](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com) or twitter @[seabsneckbeard ](https://twitter.com/seabsneckbeard).


End file.
